


Secrets And Lies

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Series: Flesh, Blood & Heart [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Discipline, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-12
Updated: 2007-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:50:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh…Eddie…how’s it been?” Sam asked, stifling a groan.</p><p>“Pretty nasty hangover. You?”</p><p>“You can say that again,” Sam said, forcing a laugh. “Look, Eddie, about last night-”</p><p>“Okay, never start off a sentence that way,” Eddie ordered.</p><p>“Haha, right,” Sam said lamely. “Uhh, anyway, I was…completely drunk. I literally have no idea what I may or may not have said, probably a load of crap…” he trailed off, unsure.</p><p>“Yeah, you uh…you told me you were a professional ghostbuster,” Eddie said. Unfortunately, his voice was carrying and Dean put his head in his hands dramatically. “You went on for about half an hour about being dive-bombed by bugs from a cursed burial ground.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets And Lies

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't like the idea of an adult Sam and Dean Winchester getting spanked by John, this is not the story for you.

“Bull…shit…” Dean enunciated, looking at Sam with shock and disbelief. “Please tell me you’re playing.”

Sam shook his head reluctantly. “It just kind of slipped out.”

“Kind of slipped out that you’re hunting ghosts with your brother and dad?”

Sam shrugged, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “It was Eddie. We took Legal Ethics together, okay? I was a little drunk and it just came out. I don’t know!”

“Not good enough,” Dean said angrily. “So Eddie starts wondering what you were talking about, does a little research and figures out I’m dead and Dad’s missing? Then he calls the cops cause you’re a nut job.”

“I didn’t think of that!” Sam protested.

“Yeah, because you were drunk off your ass!” Dean shouted.

“That’s not cool, Dean. I mean, how many times a month do you get drunk? And I get drunk last night for the first time since we’ve been hunting again and you go off on me?”

“Yeah, because when I’m drunk I at least have the sense to say I’m a professional surfer or something,” Dean snapped.

Sam rubbed his temples, suddenly tired of arguing with his brother and increasingly aware of his headache. It served as yet another reminder of why he never got that drunk. “Well, Eddie knows I’d never be a professional surfer,” he said lamely.

Dean gave him an angry look. “Yeah, well, he probably thinks you’d never be a professional ghostbuster either.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Sam yelled in frustration.

“No, it’s not okay,” Dean snapped back. “This was a great location. It’s central, it’s cheap, and Dad’s actually working. We could have stayed here till summer. And now you go out drinking with your old college buddies and blow everything. Dad’s gonna be so pissed…”

“Well, maybe if you’d been watching me instead of that blonde slut we could have avoided it,” Sam said, annoyed that his brother was right and feeling his stomach lurch at the thought of telling John what he had done.

“Yeah, because it’s my job to baby-sit my twenty-three-year-old brother who doesn’t know how to keep the biggest secret in his life!”

As Sam opened his mouth to say something equally stupid, his phone rang. “Let me take this,” he said, noticing that it was a strange number.

“Sam Winchester,” he said, a little smug at Dean’s crossed arms and don’t-think-this-conversation-is-over glare.

“Hi, Sam, this is Eddie Barkman,” his former classmate said easily.

“Oh…Eddie…how’s it been?” Sam asked, stifling a groan.

“Pretty nasty hangover. You?”

“You can say that again,” Sam said, forcing a laugh. “Look, Eddie, about last night-”

“Okay, never start off a sentence that way,” Eddie ordered.

“Haha, right,” Sam said lamely. “Uhh, anyway, I was…completely drunk. I literally have no idea what I may or may not have said, probably a load of crap…” he trailed off, unsure.

“Yeah, you uh…you told me you were a professional ghostbuster,” Eddie said. Unfortunately, his voice was carrying and Dean put his head in his hands dramatically. “You went on for about half an hour about being dive-bombed by bugs from a cursed burial ground.”

“Wow…I guess I was drunk,” Sam said. There was a long pause.

“I’m not sure you were that drunk,” Eddie said finally. “Because you also mentioned poltergeists, and the kind of things they do. And…” he paused again. “I think I have one.”

“What?” Sam asked, sure that he’d misheard Eddie.

“I think I’ve got a poltergeist,” he said. “Everything you said fits. Mel and I moved into our apartment about four months ago, and ever since there’s been all this weird shit going on. Lights flickering, scratching sounds, just like you said. We had an exterminator out, and the electrician’s been two or three times, but nothing’s stopped.”

“So…you thought I wasn’t drunk?” Sam said. “Because believe me, I was drunk.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know, man, you seemed really serious. And then there’s the furniture. It keeps moving around, only I’m not doing it and Mel swears she’s not. And last night it was where I left it when I went to sleep, and then this morning the sofa was back over blocking the kitchen.”

“You’re sure you weren’t just so drunk you didn’t notice last night?”

“Positive,” Eddie said. “You have to go through the kitchen to get into the living room, and I passed out in front of the television. Oh, and Mel’s visiting her sister in Louisville, so it couldn’t have been her.”

“So…someone’s in your apartment moving things?” Sam asked, skeptical.

“Yeah, only there isn’t anyone, and I have one hell of an alarm system.”

“That’s…interesting, Eddie. Let me call you back?”

“Hey, wait, Sam,” Eddie said urgently. “Look, I’m serious about this, okay? This is freaking me out over here, because I know Melanie couldn’t have done it. So, really, call me back.”

“I will. Bye.” Sam snapped his phone shut.

“So your law buddy’s making fun of you now,” Dean said.

“Eddie doesn’t have a sense of humor,” Sam said. “I know this guy, Dean. He was serious. I think we have an actual case on our hands. We don’t have to tell Dad, we can stay here and investigate it!”

“And when Dad gets back this afternoon what are we going to tell him?” Dean asked.

“That there’s a case here!” Sam said. “That a friend of mine was talking to me and it sounds like he has a poltergeist. We can tell Eddie to pretend he doesn’t know what we do. Come on, Dean, Dad would be so pissed at me if he found out.” Sam turned his most pathetic look on his older brother, who wavered slightly.

“Okay, fine, but…god, you deserve to get your ass beat for letting someone find out about everything,” Dean said finally. “You know, I really ought to just spank you myself.”

“Yeah, well, you told Cassie about everything, didn’t you?” Sam shot back. “So I don’t see why you’re being so uptight about it!”

“That was different,” Dean said, going pale. “Cassie wasn’t some drunk rich kid I hadn’t seen in a year. I had to tell her the truth.”

“And what did Dad think about that?” Sam asked nastily. “Oh, wait, you didn’t tell him!”

“Well, I would have if she hadn’t broken up with me,” Dean defended himself.

“Well, there’s no way you can spank me for doing something you’ve done yourself,” Sam said firmly.

“Dammit,” Dean swore. He got up from the table and made his way into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Despite his condition, Sam had to grin. Sometimes Dean was just too easy.

***

“So you’re out drinking, and you run into a friend from college who just happens to have a poltergeist problem?” John repeated, looking at his sons.

“Small world, huh?” Dean remarked casually. “But Sammy’s friend seemed pretty sincere about the whole thing. I don’t know, he was kind of drunk, but it definitely sounded like we should check it out.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?” John asked. “Seeing as how this kid knows who we are.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Actually, Eddie and his girlfriend are going out of town today,” he said. “They’re new here too, and don’t know anyone, and he asked me if I could feed the cat while they’re gone.” In reality Eddie had checked into a nearby hotel to free up the apartment for the Winchesters, but there was no need to bring that up to his father. “So I have the key. I figure we can stay there for a night, see if we notice anything suspicious. If we do, we kill it. If we don’t, I can just feed Whiskers for the rest of the week and call an electrician.”

“Yeah, and what’s one night, after all?” Dean agreed. “We’ll just check it out, since we’re in the area and everything.”

John shrugged. “Well, if you boys think it’s worth investigating…we can look into it,” he agreed. “But just for one night. That should be enough to figure out whether or not this is a poltergeist.”

“Um, Dad?” Sam asked tentatively.

“What?”

“How do you kill a poltergeist? I’ve never actually…. I mean, the one in Lawrence was kind of a fluke….”

“There are a couple of ways to get rid of them,” John said. “One is to purify the house, like Missouri tried to do. I’m guessing that you just hadn’t quite finished when it attacked you and that was the problem. Anyway, that’s for more general spirits, or the ones conjured by someone’s psychic energy. But some poltergeists haunt locations where they died, if the death was particularly violent or—well, sometimes they aren’t discovered and the corpse rots there. When that happens, you have to treat it like any vengeful spirit.”

“Salt and burn the sucker,” Dean added gleefully.

“You should not sound as happy about that as you just did,” Sam muttered. “So it’s okay if we go over to Eddie’s tonight?”

John nodded. “What the hell, it might be something.”

“Alright,” Dean said enthusiastically. “It’s barbecue time!”

“Not quite,” John said dryly. “You and your brother are going to have to put together some herbs in case we’re going to be purging. And if you don’t turn up a body, we will be purging.” He paused. “Actually, Dean, you work on the herbs. Sammy, you figure out whether anything’s happened in or around the apartment. And I’ll go buy some spackling paste, so we can fill in the holes without anyone noticing.”

“How do I end up doing herb detail?” Dean whined. “Especially when we don’t even know if we’ll need them!”

“Because I said so, Dean,” John replied sharply.

Dean huffed a little but headed for the back door. “Oh, and I’m taking the Impala,” he called over his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear about another incident with the Highway Patrol!” John called back.

“Oh, come on, he believed every word of it!” Dean said, and John shook his head.

“You get on that computer, Sam,” he directed.

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, trying not to smirk at his father’s obvious distaste for the laptop. At least it would get the job done.

***

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” Sam muttered, kneeling to stuff the packet of herbs into the new hole in the wall. He just hoped that the spirit didn’t realize what he was doing, because the whole choking thing was getting kind of old. At least his poltergeist had been validated within half an hour, which made him slightly smug.

“That in there tight, Sammy?” Dean asked, coming up from behind him with the spackling.

“God—um, yeah, it is,” Sam said, trying to pretend Dean hadn’t scared the crap out of him.

“Good.” Dean shoved his little brother out of the way good-naturedly, filling up the hole near the floorboard. “So that’s the south corner, I did the west, and Dad should have the east and north by now…”

His voice trailed off and he opened his mouth, cupping a hand around his ear. “Listen,” he hissed, and Sam obediently strained to hear what Dean was waiting for. Scuffling noises, yes, but not the sort rats make…not the sort poltergeists make…

“Dude, is that coming from outside the apartment?” Sam asked.

“In the hall,” Dean confirmed, getting to his feet and grabbing his shotgun, loaded with rock salt. Sam reluctantly picked up the candlestick from its place on the piano and stood beside his brother, heart racing as he wondered what would come through the door.

“Shit,” Dean murmured as keys jangled and the door swung open of its own accord, revealing a young blonde.

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at them, grabbing her suitcase and holding it in front of her as a barrier. She tried to move her lips, but no sounds came out.

“Mel…Melanie…I’m, uh, I’m Sam Winchester and I’m a friend of Eddie’s,” Sam said quickly. Dean lowered the shotgun and grinned in an appeasing sort of way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she whispered shakily.

“Eddie asked me to come,” Sam said quickly, before Dean could get in a comment about _We’re putting herbs in your walls, what does it look like?_

“Seriously, I’ll call him,” Sam added as John Winchester came back into the foyer and stopped, looking in disbelief at the girl in the doorway.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “Hi, Eddie? Yeah, it’s me. Look, I didn’t think you were expecting Mel to come back so soon, but she’s here, and you might want to let her know we’re not going to hurt her, okay?” He tossed the phone towards Melanie, who let it land on the top of her suitcase. She picked it up shakily, not taking her eyes off the Winchesters.

“Ed—Eddie?” she asked softly, then burst into tears.

Meanwhile Sam was edging away from John, who had fixed him with an unrelenting stare.

“The shit so just hit the fan,” Dean said sourly.

Within fifteen minutes Eddie was back at the house. Sam had explained briefly that they were done with their work and the spirit should be gone, so sorry to have caused all this confusion. Eddie nodded and thanked him, and even Melanie managed an apologetic smile. John stood there for the entire conversation without saying a word.

“Really appreciate it,” Eddie added, offering a hand to his friend’s father.

“Any time,” John assured him, shaking the hand. “But now I think we have some other business to attend to.” He shot his boys a meaningful look.

“Yes, well, we wouldn’t want to keep you,” Melanie said sweetly. “And I think Eddie and I have some business of our own.”

They left awkwardly. “Call us if it doesn’t stop,” Sam reminded.

John was silent until they had reached the Impala, where Dean tried to make conversation. “Boy, I sure wouldn’t want to be Eddie right about now,” he said lightly. “Cause Melanie looked _pissed._ I mean, I bet she’s so mad about Eddie not—” his face fell as he realized what he was saying.

“Yeah, I bet she’s pissed,” John said. “I mean, Eddie must have lied to her, and kept secrets from her and probably even broken some rules they have in their relationship.”

“Look, Dad, I can explain,” Dean started.

“Oh, yeah, explain what?” John asked. “How the two of you lied to me about this hunt? How some guy knows all about our secret, spontaneous hunt? Because I’d love to see you explain how Eddie knew who we were and what we were doing.”

“Hey, Sam’s the one who told!” Dean yelled, gesturing at his brother in the backseat.

“Yeah, like you’ve never done it! All it takes for you is sleeping with a girl!” Sam retorted. “At least I told someone with an actual problem!”

“You didn’t know it then!”

“Boys!” John said in his best no-nonsense vice, and they froze mid-accusation. “I see we have a lot to discuss when we get back,” he said ominously.

“Yes, sir,” both sons replied in a subdued tone of voice. The ride couldn’t be long enough, Sam thought grimly.

***

John pointed to the couch, still quiet and menacing enough to inspire instant obedience. Dean and Sam sank onto the cushions, both appearing to be highly interested in their shoes.

“Dean,” John said finally, causing his oldest son to raise unmistakably worried eyes. “Tell me what happened here, son.”

“Well, we, uh…we got rid of a poltergeist,” Dean said brightly. “And we also scared the crap out of the damsel in distress, which wasn’t such a good thing.”

“Not for you,” John agreed. “Because otherwise I might have gone on thinking this was just a pretty interesting coincidence. But now it’s pretty clear that there’s more to the story, and it’ll be a lot easier for you both if I don’t have to persuade you to tell me everything.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, the amusement gone from his voice again. He took a deep breath and started the story. “Well, last night Sammy ran into Eddie, and they got drunk together, and Sammy told him about being hunters. And we hoped Eddie would think it was just the alcohol, but then this morning he called and said he thought he had a poltergeist, based on what Sam had told him. And we figured we should investigate it, but we didn’t want you to find out about Sam accidentally telling Eddie. So…we may have fudged the truth a little.”

“Oh, yeah, just a little,” John said, annoyed.

“I mean, we knew you’d be pissed if you found out,” Dean said reasonably.

“And now I’m even more pissed that I found out from one of your damsels in distress,” John said. “But I still haven’t heard about you telling girls what we do.”

“That was once, okay?” Dean said, and Sam could feel the suppressed emotion tense in his brother’s shoulders. “It was Cassie, Dad. In Ohio, remember?”

And something like regret flickered across John’s face for a moment, but he shook it off quickly. “It doesn’t matter how much you care about the girl, Dean. You know that.”

“Yes, sir.” That wasn’t a mistake Dean was ever going to make again. _Look at Sam—he’d kept his life a secret from Jessica and they had been happy for a while._

“Glad that’s clear.” John stood up then, and his boys followed suit. “Sam, I want you to go wait for me in my room while Dean and I have a little talk out here.”

“But Dad—” Sam started.

“Samuel Winchester,” John said as a warning, and luckily Sam decided he didn’t really want to argue. He turned and left the room with remarkable speed.

John took the seat he had vacated on the sofa, directly to Dean’s left. “Jeans, kid,” he reminded, and Dean groaned softly as he reached for the snap at his waist. John waited until Dean was over his lap before he started spanking, hard and fast over his son’s underwear. He still had Sam to deal with after this, and was in no mood for the prolonged struggle of bringing Dean to tears. He aimed lower and was rewarded with a small gasp.

“Now, Dean, this is for lying to me,” he said sternly, stopping long enough to scoot Dean further down his lap, offering up his thighs as a better target.

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized through clenched teeth, feeling John’s palm come crashing down onto his butt over and over again.

“Good. Because even if I’m not going to like it, you tell me when something like this happens,” John ordered. “You don’t keep something secret to save your ass, or Sammy’s, because we’re dealing with saving lives. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied, his hands involuntarily squeezing the sofa cushion.

“Good.” John covered his son’s bottom with swats twice more before Dean’s breath started coming in little hitching gulps. “I don’t ever want to hear about you lying to me again,” he concluded. And without missing a beat, he pulled Dean’s underwear to his knees to join the pants.

“And this is for telling anyone, even Cassie, about what we do,” John said simply. He spanked longer and harder than he could remember spanking Dean in a while, and was rewarded by the tears falling thick and fast from his son’s lashes, and the uneven whimpers.

“You’re old enough to know better, Dean,” he concluded simply, landing two more solid smacks to the tops of Dean’s thighs. The skin before him was a bright red, but there would be no bruising, only a persistent sting.

“Yes, sir,” Dean agreed wholeheartedly, limp across John’s lap.

John pulled Dean’s underwear back into place, leaving the jeans for his son to deal with. He put his hands around Dean’s upper arms, hoisting him into a sitting position. Dean’s soft sobs increased a little, and he put his head in his hands.

“You’re okay, buddy,” John said softly. “It’s over.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean apologized again through his hands, and John knew that Dean felt guilty. He wasn’t surprised at Dean’s affected attitude most of the time, because he knew that when Dean _was_ sincere it was more intense than just about anything John could produce.

“It’s all okay,” he assured Dean, squeezing his son’s broad shoulders. “I’ve already forgiven you. Just remember this the next time.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said. John pulled him in for a quick hug before standing up.

“You go to bed,” he advised. “I’m going to go deal with your brother.”

Dean nodded and disappeared. John sighed as he watched him go, before removing his belt and beginning the long walk to his bedroom.

***

Sam jumped to his feet as his father entered the room, trying not to flinch at the belt he carried in his left hand. John sat down on his bed, placing the belt on the bedside table and nodding to Sam.

“Jeans down, Samuel,” he instructed. Sam could feel the tears burning in his eyes as he pulled down his jeans almost mechanically. He had lost some weight recently (probably as a result of eating more real food than diner crap) and they slipped to his ankles immediately. He laid himself facedown over his father’s knees without really understanding why. _I’m 23 years old and I’m just letting my dad spank me,_ he thought miserably. His father’s left arm wrapped around his waist, a precaution against Sam’s customary squirming, and his voice rumbled overhead.

“Look, Sam, in our line of work we don’t have the luxury of lying and keeping secrets from each other,” he scolded. “You’re a smart kid and you could probably give me a list of reasons why it’s a bad idea. But I’m just going to let you focus on that while I remind you that you don’t want to keep things from me. In fact, it’ll just get you in more trouble when I find out about whatever you’re trying to hide. And that’s how you earned this part of your spanking.” And with that, John Winchester raised his hand high and began to punish his wayward son.

Sam hissed sharply as his father’s hand landed on his upturned backside. It came down again in the same place, hard, and the third smack forced the first tears to leak from his eyes. John was falling into a rhythm, methodically lighting a fire in his son’s bottom. As his hand reached the under curves a second time Sam couldn’t help whimpering. “I’m sorry, Dad…I won’t do it again…” he promised through his tears.

“I think that’s the point, kid,” John said gently. He swatted Sam’s thighs until he heard the first quiet sob, and then moved the smacks back to the top of his bottom. As he spanked lower again, Sam’s pitiful crying told him that it was time to move to the next stage.

Sam wasn’t holding back his tears, especially because he couldn’t help but think of how John was right, and how angry he himself was when he was kept in the dark. The spanking came to a halt as his father spoke again.

“Now, this could be the end of your spanking if you hadn’t lied to me,” John said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But you know how _vital_ it is that we don’t go talking about the things we hunt, and if that’s a problem when you’re drunk, you just make sure you don’t _get_ drunk. Do I make myself clear, young man?”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said earnestly. He felt John reach over his back to retrieve the belt and couldn’t help the panic springing up in his chest. “Dad, please, I really don’t need that—” he begged, trying to push himself off his father’s lap.

“That’s not your decision, Samuel,” John sad firmly, reflexively squeezing his arm around Sam’s waist and preventing an escape. “What you did was damn stupid, and since you went to such an extreme to keep me from finding out, I think you know how serious I am about it. Now you can take your spanking now and be done with it, or you can force me to give you another one tomorrow morning, all with my belt. Is that what you want?”

Sam’s shoulders tensed in fear, and he lay rigid across his father’s lap, uncertain whether to stay or try to run. His ass was hot enough to fry an egg, he was sure, but his head won out after a second and he relaxed slowly. He lay draped over his father’s knees in resignation, clenching his fists so hard the fingernails dug into his palms.

“Good decision,” John said approvingly, and he grabbed the waistband of Sam’s underpants and tugged them to the boy’s knees. Sam gasped and flushed with embarrassment, but John’s grip was tight around his son.

“I’m giving you ten with the belt,” he warned. “You don’t have to count.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam whispered thickly, clenching his fingers tighter.

John could tell that Sam’s blazing bottom would feel every one of these smacks. He hated having to do this to his son, but twenty seven years of being a parent had taught him that he didn’t have a choice. He paced the smacks steadily, giving Sam time to catch his breath between them. For his part, Sam howled at every crack of the belt and was crying uncontrollably by the tenth smack. John immediately let the belt drop to the floor and began to rub his son’s back in gentle circles. “I’m sorry, Sammy, I know that was rough,” he said tenderly. After a few minutes of letting Sam cry, John adjusted the boy’s clothes and lifted him to sit on the bed beside him. His youngest son immediately clung to him, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face in his shoulder. John returned the hug, rocking him back and forth while making soothing sounds in an attempt to calm the boy. John couldn’t help but smile at how tall Sam was and how little he seemed.

“Shh, kid, you’re alright,” he assured Sam, in between the heartbroken wails. “You’re going to be okay.” He realized then that he hadn’t given Sam a real spanking since before the kid left for Stanford, over five years ago. Although he wasn’t happy about having to spank his youngest, he felt an odd sort of comfort at being able to care for him in this way again. Slowly he brought a hand up to stroke the long hair, surprised as always by how soft it was. “You’re just fine, Sammy,” he murmured, feeling Sam’s body slowly stop shaking and hearing his sobs quiet down. They were coming erratically now as his son became calmer, but Sam made no move to distance himself from the embrace.

“I love you so much, Sammy Winchester,” he said. It wasn’t something he often said to his boys, and he had gotten out of the habit even more after Sam had left for college. He hadn’t realized just how much he had missed it saying, or how much more he had missed Sam’s muffled reply.

“I love you too, Dad.”


End file.
